The Bus
by Chocolate498
Summary: Patrick Jane is on the bus and takes in his surrounds and the people around him. Basically ignoring Red John and any murder/crime. Very innocence. Mention of someone being in war but no war stories. Please read and review.


**Authors Note: Okay. Hey guys. I would appreciate it if you read this. I am quite new to the Mentalist side to fan fiction so if there are any stories that you recommend, I would be glad to read (basically free promotion to the stories you guys have written :)**

**Reason behind this story is that I actually wrote this for my English class and when I got back my result I was quite disappointed. A lot of people have told me that this was a really good story - someone told me that this was the best story that I have written. Anyway, so I was disappointed with my result and wanted to try it with a larger audience. My sister told me that it was close to the Mentalist so here it is. I have made a few minor changes but the rest is the same. Please review and tell me what you think. It would mean a lot to me :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist. That belongs to the creative genius Bruno Heller and for a reason.**

I don't know their names, but I do know everything else about them.

The girl sitting next to me? I know she's pregnant but she hasn't told her husband. Occasionally her hands slide to her stomach almost protectively, her fingers lightly brushing her skin, and she smiles, and looks into the distance almost as if she if planning out her future in her mind. But she quickly pulls that in, making her hands fall into her lap, and her face becomes hidden in a mask - but not hidden enough so I can't see the worry in her eyes. She bites her lip and her right hand plays with her wedding ring before she sighs and lets herself relax and stare out the window. She is scared about how her husband will react, if he is going to leave her. They probably haven't discussed having a child, or if they have, he hasn't really been up for the idea of having one. And she's scared about that.

I can see that that guy across from me is having marital problems. His eyes have dark circles around them and he keeps yawning. He obviously hasn't much sleep in the past couple of days. He missed a spot shaving, something that a wife usually doesn't miss. The logo on the empty Styrofoam cup in his hand indicates that he got it at a local cafe, probably the one that was next to the bus stop that he got on, and not from home. His clothes were wrinkled, yet he looks like a business man, which shows that either his wife usually irons his clothes or that he hasn't been able to. His hand plays with his ring, pulling it off his finger and then putting it back on quickly. He does that several times. Divorce seems imminent.

I can see behind the mask that one wears. Human behaviour intrigues me. I always thought that is was a language of its own, a simple yet delicate language that not many people are able to understand. It's more reliable. It's easy to lie, at least with our words. But our body language, that's difficult to cover up, not that people don't try. But they can't hid their basic reacts. And that scares some people that I can see through them so easily. And sometimes, it scares me.

I don't always want to see what I see. I don't want to see the young girl two seats behind me pull her long sleeves on her jacket up to her hands. It's summer.

I don't want to see the teenager at the back right hand corner of the bus, next to a lady and her two sons. She jumps whenever someone says something to her. A faint scar covers her face.

Sometimes I wish I could close my eyes and avoid this complication that we call life.

The bus slows to a stop and a middle age man joins. From his posture he is former military. A veteran. The black work boots with the simple khaki pants and plain short sleeve shirt only confirms my theory. His right arm is missing - the reason why he is ex-military I assume - and is not wearing a ring on his other hand. His hair, a white-grey, not silvery but just a simple white-grey, is short. His face is emotionless except for his eyes. His eyes, they show a dark haunted look within. The look that one only gets when they see someone die. One that scares me. He sits in a empty seat in front of me, next to the aisle so that nobody will sit next to him. He places a duffel bag that he was carrying on the spare seat next to him, by the window, and pulls out a book and starts to read.

With some people it's almost effortless to read, like how one might read a book. They wear their hearts on their sleeves. It's easy to tell if they are lying. With others, it's different. Their emotions are masked within a deep layer of cloth and buried so deep that it is almost impossible to find. Almost.

Distracted, I never see the young boy make his way to the ex-military man. Though I don't know whether I would have done something to stop him if I saw him anyway. But then I remember his eyes, the ones with nightmares and ghosts swimming through them.

The young boy pulls the short sleeve shirt on the arm that is missing. The man sees him and folds the corner of his book before giving all his attention to the young boy. The young boy inhaled deeply before he began to speak.

"Mister, why don't you have an arm?"

The military man looked at the boy for a second before sighing and placed his bag and the floor, moving over to the window seat.

"If I'm to answer ya question, ya should jump up. Don't want ya to fall and hit ya head," he said, giving a slight, but completely fake smile to the young boy. He had an accent but it sounded off. The young boy smiled before jumping up onto the seat. Once the boy jump up and was comfy, the man began to talk.

"Well, ya know that story of the boy who stuck his arm out the window and a car came by and hit it?"

The young boy nodded, taking all the information in.

"Well you see, that was me and that's why I don't have an' arm, kay?"

I knew the man was lying. The slight shift of tone in his voice, the way his facial muscles pull in, his hand clenched, almost as if daring someone to tell him that his story was wrong. It sounded as if he has told this story several times. But before I could think too much into it, the screech of the word 'Johnny' shook through the bus. The boy turned his head to where the sound had originated from.

"That sounds like ya mum, huh? Best be off, and careful with cars, kay?"

They young boy nodded before hopping off the seat and almost skipping towards his furious but relived mother. Once I couldn't see him I leant forwards.

"Why did you lie to that little boy?" I asked.

The man turned his head and stared at me, as if he could see all my secrets before answering.

"What's it to ya?" he asks, giving me again the fake accent that he gave the boy.

"No point in denying it. And I know that accent is fake too. I'm simply curious," I answered.

"What's ya name?" he asks.

"Patrick Jane. What is yours?"

The man gave no words but turned to face the front, ignoring me.

"Excuse me my dear," I tell the pregnant lady next to me before I slip out of my seat and jump onto the one that the boy sat on not moments ago.

We both don't say anything for a while, both not wanting to give in.

"If I told him," the man says, dropping the fake accent," I lost it during the war saving a member of my team, he is going to think 'how cool it would be to become a soldier, to save peoples' lives like that.' He's going to grow up, maybe chose a military career, become a soldier because he's met someone who lost his arm to save someone's life. There is no way that I am going to influence a child's decision of what he wants to become because 'it would be cool'. I fought over there because I didn't want people over here to grow up fighting in a war that they don't belong in."

Sometimes people take you by complete surprise, not that I would ever tell anyone.

**Hi guys it's me again. Please review. For those who didn't read the authors note, basically I just want people to review and tell me if it is okay - or maybe judge it out of 30 or give it a percentage. I won't be angry I promise. Hope you guys have a great day.**


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